His brawny figure seemed to dilate and he made a queer hissing noise as he looked after her. Turning to me he hoarsely said:
“I was born white. It’s her blood that calls me. When I saw her in Salem I said I would have her for my squaw if I could get her and her fool of a father into the mountains.”
My mental paralysis lifted.
“Is she promised to you?” I asked.
“I am to have any two prisoners to do with as I like,” he answered. “Catahecassa said that when I started to enter the villages beyond the mountains to get news. There was little chance of bringing any whites back, but if I did I was to have two of them.”
“Then you had better remind your chief of his promise,” I warned. “He says he will torture the girl before her father’s eyes if the father does not help in betraying the settlers.”
“Ugh! I have his promise. He dare not break it.”
The girl would kill herself before submitting to Ward’s savage caresses. She would go mad if forced to witness the torture of her father. I had seized upon Ward’s passion as a means of gaining a bit more time. If he could successfully claim the girl then she must be rescued from him. But viewed from any angle I could find nothing but horrors.
Release by death would be very kind. If any harm were suffered by the girl I should lose my reason; my life, if God were merciful. No longer did our time of grace extend to the Scioto villages. At any moment our little destinies might come to a fearful ending. In my soul I railed at the curse of it. Such a little way to go, and so much pain and sorrow.
Ward left me and strode up to the chief. They talked rapidly, and I could read from Ward’s mien that he was very angry. When he returned to me he was in a rare rage.